


Tears for Daughters

by WendyNerd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, father/daughter bond for Stannis and Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-01 13:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10922775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/pseuds/WendyNerd
Summary: King Stannis Baratheon only weeps twice.





	1. The First Weeping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tommyginger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommyginger/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift fic for my friend, Tommyginger! Happy Birthday, Girl!
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to eilit for her beta-work!

Davos:

He’s seen his king cry exactly twice.

The first time is when Stannis returns to the Wall and discovers what has been done to Princess Shireen. What that Red Witch and his mad wife did to his daughter.

It is Jon Snow who tells him. The Lord Commander. Melisandre and Queen Selyse did it to secure Stannis a victory in the North. They did it so the Red Witch could summon Snow back to life after he was gutted by his own men.

The Lord Commander has them locked away, leaving their fate to Stannis.

The sick thing is, Selyse and Melisandre do get what they want, what they apparently sacrificed their sweet, sweet princess for. Jon Snow is alive, and Stannis has returned to the Wall triumphant.

But it wasn’t any foul red magic that saved Stannis at Winterfell.

No, it is the sudden arrival of an army from the Vale, led by Bronze Yohn Royce and the girl Stannis himself had dismissed as ‘Lady Lannister.’ But Sansa Stark flew a direwolf banner and boldly swept in, knights at her back, to take back Winterfell. 

Davos encounters the woman before the Battle of Winterfell, when Wyman Manderly receives word from his conspirators that Sansa Stark was marching North with an army of her own. She visits White Harbor herself, and marches up to Davos, recognizing him by the bag of fingers about his neck. 

The Onion Knight is shocked that such a young lady, not even five-and-ten, knows of such a thing.

“When I destroyed Petyr Baelish,” she informs him, “I gained access to all of his things, including his reports.”

She wants Stannis to support her and her little brother, to help them take back the Riverlands once and for all, for her mother’s family. She expects Stannis to name Rickon Lord of Winterfell, but also declare her Lady of Harrenhal, another thing she’d inherited from her former captor, Rickon’s Regent, and declare her a maiden, free to wed. 

The young woman rides in herself, saving Stannis at the very last moment. She does not hesitate to recognize him as king, under her conditions. Stannis takes it a step further, declaring that he recognizes her as Lady of Winterfell and of the North in her own right, “By right of birth and conquest.”--- Though there is a condition: Sansa shall officially be his ward until her eighteenth Name Day.

Stannis Baratheon returns to Castle Black stronger than he’s ever been, with both the North and the Vale behind him, the Trident likely to follow, given that one of his chief allies claimed Harrenhal, and even the Iron Islands as a possibility. 

All while their enemies tear themselves apart at the seams. Cersei Lannister destroys everything Tywin built, the Tyrells and the Martells are in revolt, and the Stormlands are raided by someone claiming to be Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar. 

It should be his greatest triumph. He’s even brought Lady Stark with him to the Wall, hoping it might persuade the Lord Commander to convince the Wildlings to bend the knee to him once and for all. He was flanked by unbelievable allies: the rightful heiress to the Iron Islands on one side, the key to the North on the other.

But he returns to find his legacy destroyed.

Davos isn’t sure how many people Stannis loved during his life, but if there was only one, it was Princess Shireen. 

After so long, after so many years of listening to that Red Witch, thinking he could use her. At long last, he had her executed. 

He doesn’t burn her--- that’s the way she wants to go. No, he beheads her, with Lightbringer itself.

It requires him to remove Melisandre’s ruby collar. And when he does, she transforms into a hideous old woman. 

She goes quietly.

Selyse is next. What else can be done?

Davos finds his king in private quarters hours later, weeping. Stannis didn’t even weep after Blackwater. It shakes Davos to his core. He doesn’t know what to do. He sits down next to his king and told him about his sons. But Stannis wouldn’t have it.

“At least they died in battle! At the hands of people you’d expect! Shireen was killed by her own mother! And everyone… They let it happen! And I did it, too! I brought that woman in! It’s all my fault! So stop trying to comfort me, Davos.”

But the Onion Knight still fears his king may go mad.

Davos can’t blame him. Shireen seems to haunt Castle Black. 

If such a thing is even possible. Not because Davos doesn’t believe in ghosts, but because of the nature of her death. Jon Snow walks, talks, lives and breathes. And Davos isn’t sure how much of Shireen was lost to bring him back.

Lady Stark privately pleads for clemency towards Jon. Davos isn’t sure if such an act is necessary or not, but Stannis seeks no retribution towards Lord Snow.

Stannis doesn’t punish the young man for what happened, but he can barely stand to look at the Lord Commander. For his part, Snow never gives reason for anyone to doubt his remorse, and shows outright loyalty to Stannis now, apolitical beliefs of the Watch be damned. None of his men dare question him now that he’s come back from the dead.

Stannis was never a happy man, but he never seemed to have a death wish, either. Despite being stronger than ever, he appears to have no focus other than to fight until he died.

Daenerys Targaryen arrives, with all the fire and blood that could be imagined, and ended the Lannister woman once and for all. She comes to Castle Black, dragons in tow, and Davos fears what comes next. He is certain his king will be as stubborn as possible with the dragon woman, even if it kills him.

Perhaps because it might kill him.

But when negotiations begin, Stannis’s surprise champion strikes again.

Sansa Stark shocks the court by proposing a temporary truce, one to last until The Others were defeated, and “there’s a Seven Kingdoms to rule.” If either party did not agree, Lady Stark swore she would crown herself Queen of the North, the Vale, and the Trident and rebel against whichever side refused to budge. Asha Greyjoy swore to back her.

And instead, the “alliance” between Queen Daenerys and Stannis is officially forged with a very, very reluctant marriage between the king and queen. 

Davos swears to this day that the royal marriage remained unconsummated. But they unite in other ways when the enemy arrives.

Stannis is granted the use of one of the dragons, his Targaryen blood allowing him to fly the green one, Rhaegal.  

But Daenerys has three dragons, and the third rider shocked them all.

As it turns out, Jon Snow isn’t Ned Stark’s bastard at all. He, not that pretender from the east, is Rhaegar’s surviving son. The bastard of Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna Stark.

He flies the third beast, the white one, Viserion. Rumors erupt that Jon Snow and the Dragon Queen engaged in an affair during the war. If they do, it’s with discretion. At least on the part of the dragon queen, who never falls pregnant. Though there are whispers about the former Lord Commander keeping odd hours.

Not that they need full discretion. Stannis seems ambivalent about possibly being a cuckold, focussing all his energy on the war, flying at the enemy with no regard for self-preservation.

It doesn’t take long for those observing the king’s behavior to decide that if this war is won, Stannis will die in it, leaving his wife the throne, and allowing her to wed the former Lord Commander instead. Davos watches resentfully as men who had served Stannis his whole life began to flock towards the young Targaryens, eager to curry favor with them.

The only other person who seems to remain truly invested in Stannis anymore, aside from Davos, is Lady Stark.

It honestly shocks everyone, considering that it is her cousin in the running to be the next king if and when Stannis fell in battle. And yet, the young woman shows an unexpected investment in the king.

Several months into the war, both Stannis and Lord Jon sustain near-fatal injuries that leave them both bedridden for weeks, and have many speculating over their deaths. Lady Stark rides to Castle Black herself. But to everyone’s amazement, she doesn’t spend all of her time by her cousin’s bedside.

She displays a special adoration for Jon Snow, of course, but makes time for Stannis as well, visiting his bedside whenever Lord Snow sleeps. 

No one expects her to; Stannis certainly doesn’t. And at first, he attempts to rebuff her, growling at her for wasting her time when she was supposed to be back at Winterfell, keeping the North secure and the supply lines clear.

“Maybe I’ll strip you of all your titles, if you won’t fulfill the role I named you to! That crippled brother of yours is back, after all! And I’m sure the Ryswells and Manderlys would be thrilled to assume regency! Don’t forget, you’re still my ward, I can make it worth their while to stay in line!”

Lady Stark doesn’t so much as blink at this. 

“If that is what my king thinks is wise, he is free to declare whatever he wishes once he is of sound mind and body again,” she replies, calmly rinsing a cold compress, “It will certainly be an interesting display of how Stannis Baratheon repays loyalty. But I’m afraid no declarations on that scale can be declared or enacted until you’ve recovered.”

Stannis stares at her in shock, then scowls and lays back. "Play nursemaid, then."

When Stannis refuses to eat, or obey the maesters, or take his medicine, Lady Stark is summoned. 

“Are you so content to remain in bed like a stubborn child as your wife leads the front lines, Your Grace?” She asks him, “Or do you wish to return to living and fighting as a king would?”

Davos eavesdrops on one of Lady Stark’s visits , hovering by the doorway and peering through the cracks. He only sees a sliver of the redhead leaning over the bed, performing some task with strips of fabric.

“There,” he hears her say, “Fresh, new, and clean. You’ll be back in the air in no time at this rate.”

“Oh, jubilation,” Stannis replies in that way only he could.

Lady Stark scoffs. “Come now, Your Grace-”

“Come now to what, exactly, Wolf Girl? The feast that shall be held celebrating my recovery, I suppose? The one mourning it shall be grander.”

“You mustn’t say such things! Everyone wants you to-”

“-I thought we agreed,” Stannis interrupts, “That my cooperation with your nursemaid act is contingent upon you not lying.”

There is an uncomfortable pause. Lady Stark sighs. “Not everyone, then.”

“No one.”

“Now who is lying?”

“You. How many people are hovering around your cousin’s chambers? How many people join in the Dragon Queen’s eagerness to see me die? No one shall celebrate my recovery. They’ll regret a wasted opportunity.”

“Davos is still loyal to you.”

“Davos is almost as intractable as I am. Almost. But once I am dead, he’ll feel nothing but relief.”

The Onion Knight does a double-take when he hears this. It’s utterly absurd.

"How can you say such a thing? The man loves you."

"Aye, and in recent years he's only suffered for it."

"He'd still be a lowly smuggler if not for you. And he believes in you. I see it. Everyone sees it."

"Perhaps, but once I'm gone, he'll see how much better off he is. He'll be able to retire and spend quiet years with his family, no longer caught up in my rubbish."

Davos would rather be caught up in his king's rubbish than hold a throne himself. His intact hand curls into a fist.

Lady Stark just sighs. “ _I_ am still loyal to you.”

“Which continues to baffle me, if in fact that’s true and you haven’t actually been trying to poison me this whole time.”

“You really think me capable of such a thing?”

“I don’t know, I should probably ask Petyr Baelish.”

At this, Lady Stark draws back, her eyes going hard. “I did not kill Petyr Baelish.”

“No, you just delivered him to his executioners.”

“As he delivered my father to his. But unless there is something I’ve missed, I lack a motivation to wish you harm.”

“A crown for your cousin doesn’t count?”

“It most certainly does not. Jon is still a Stark. Need I remind you of what happens to Stark men in King’s Landing?”

“So you’d rather sacrifice me, instead.”

“You’re no Stark.”

“True, but Baratheons, true and false, hardly have a better record there than your blood.”

“You’re the one who has aggressively pursued that thing,” Lady Stark answers tartly, “Like every other fool in this kingdom. Thankfully, my cousin is no fool, and neither am I.”

“Careful, My Lady. You’re still speaking to your king.”

“Am I? I thought I was speaking to a corpse-in-waiting, if your behavior is any indication.”

“I’m just giving these Seven Kingdoms what they need of me. I’ve ceased chasing fantasies. Like the one that there is anyone left who would react joyously to seeing me return to health. I’m not Renly. I’m not Robert. I’m not even a father anymore.”

At this, Lady Stark stops what she is doing and gets up. Davos can’t see what she does next as she movs. But he soon hears the rhythmic tapping of feet and clapping of hands, followed by the lady’s refined, trained voice offering a hymn of thanks to the Crone and the Mother for a restoration of health.

A couple of minutes later, the song ends, and Lady Stark promises to have a lemoncake in Stannis’s honor once she returns to Winterfell. “I truly would be overcome with joy and relief at your survival. After all, you’re all that stands in the way of my beloved Jon being swallowed up by that cesspool of a capital.”

“Touching as ever, Lady Stark.”

“I’ve always been skilled at reading the room. If you start being nice, and we make it through this, I may even teach you my secrets.”

To the amazement of all, they  _ do  _ make it through the war. Sansa _and_ Stannis.

Of all of them, it is the mighty, near-divine, prophesied ‘Princess Who Was Promised’, the obvious Azor Ahai Reborn that Melisandre spoke of, who perished in the final battle against the Night’s King. She and the black dragon, Drogon, hurtled from the sky, skewered on an immense spear of ice. 

And for the first time, Stannis is the undisputed king.

Everyone--- from Tyrion Lannister to random knights of House Swann, scurries to bend the knee to him. The only possible rival, Jon Snow, does not hesitate to swear his allegiance. His vows, at the very least, seem sincere.

When Sansa Stark is one of three people to be given a place of honor at Stannis’s coronation, and she is announced as the king’s “Mistress of the Court”, everyone expects that he’ll marry his young, beautiful ward.

She certainly acts the part of a queen, after all. She takes up residence in King’s Landing and her new title puts in her in the role of a royal consort. She oversees the royal household, presided over ceremonies, dictates the placement of various courtiers. She is chief Lady of the Realm, and thus is the one on the King’s arm when attending events. Sansa Stark even has a place on the council, and a place on the royal dais, to the king’s immediate left, the place usually reserved for a queen. She has a voice in court, not only extending courtesies and conducting formalities on Stannis’s behalf, but contributing to rulings.

And the arrangement turns out to be utterly invaluable. Lady Stark is as charming as she is beautiful, providing an ingratiating, young, bright presence in contrast to Stannis’s notoriously severe demeanor. She plays the part of the gentle, tempering influence on the curmudgeonly king. Though she possesses just as much of a steely resolve as Stannis, she disguises it with a layer of silk and a coating of honey. She is the spring sunlight in a court defined by winter. 

It should be devastating. Usually close contact with such charisma only emphasized Stannis’s own lack of charm even more. Davos had watched for years as his liege stood between the boisterous Robert and attractive Renly, accumulating more and more dislike from others and more and more resentment towards his less worthy siblings as the years stretched on.

Stannis Baratheon’s greatest secret is that he does want to be loved. And he never figured out a way to make that happen. His bitterness towards those who can often makes it worse.

But not in the case of the Lady.

As much as Sansa Stark courts the affection of others, high and lowborn alike, she isn’t preening, superficial, or egotistical the way Renly was. Nor is she self-indulgent, dissolute, or disinterested like Robert. While she certainly has natural instincts and characteristics that draws people to her, she exploits her talents towards ends beyond her own self-interest. She acts on behalf of not just herself, but the crown, and her people. She doesn’t possess any of the arrogance of either Renly or Robert. She has all of the strength Renly lacked, and all of the depth Robert never achieved. She treats everything she does as a service, as something she has to earn.

Another person’s charisma actually serves to make Stannis improve in the eyes of others, rather than make him look worse. For the simple reason that the king doesn’t resent his charming companion.

Quite the contrary, in fact. 

One of the greatest tragedies of Stannis’s life is that few ever got to see him with his daughter. Shireen’s condition made it impossible for her to socialize on the same level as other children. Stannis never admitted it, but he was terrified for his daughter and all the harm the world could do her.

Many thought him ashamed of her disfigurements. Nothing was further from the truth. It was the rest of the world Stannis was ashamed of. He knows what people say, what people think. And he takes it. But he would be damned if he’d expose Shireen to it. At least, not until he was sure he’d done everything possible to prepare her for the cruel world she lived in. It was why he poured so much time, gold, and effort into making sure his daughter got a prince’s education, save for the actual martial pursuits. Why he arranged for her to receive schooling that many thought outrageous for a girl, let alone one with a face mottled by greyscale.

He kept her from the court of King’s Landing to protect her from the Cersei Lannisters of the world, to keep Shireen in a place where people loved her. Where she’d have time to grow clever and strong enough to outwit and withstand those superficial snakes at court before they had a chance to tear her down.

Shireen’s education was rigorous, but her environment was always encouraging. Stannis made sure of that. He wanted her to eventually enter public life, yes, but only after she was so accomplished that she’d be untouchable in the face of any derision towards her looks. 

And he wanted her to have a happy childhood. 

So Shireen never went to court, but her father did serve as Master of Ships to his brother. And so almost no one ever saw them together. No one witnessed the love and tenderness he had for Shireen, and Shireen alone. They never saw that rigid jaw soften, as it only ever did when the princess entered a room. They never saw those cold eyes melt the way they only ever could when looking at those mottled cheeks most others would shudder at. They never saw the way his face would twitch as he unsuccessfully tried to maintain his trademark scowl in her presence. They took it for granted that Shireen, hidden, deformed Shireen was just a blow to her father’s pride, another target for his constant disdain.

Stannis’s relationship with Sansa was not the same as the one he had with Shireen. Not quite. Stannis wasn’t afraid for Lady Stark. He never initiated any physical contact with her beyond offering his arm when necessary. He did not watch her with the same anxiousness whenever she was confronted with anything. 

And he never gave any indication that he considered Sansa to be a replacement for the daughter he’d lost. Stannis remained rigid in countless ways, and he never failed to observe certain boundaries between himself and his ward. He never forgot who her father was.

Shireen Baratheon could sprint into a room at Dragonstone and, without a second thought, would pounce into her father’s lap and press her lips to her father’s face. Indeed, it was one of the most humorous and delightful things to witness. Her father would sit still, his face only slightly wavering, his arms would wrap around his daughter in an oddly stilted, yet instinctual way, and he’d go about his business with his daughter in his lap, directing her to pay attention to whatever matter was before them, and learn something. Shireen would obey, listen and wait patiently, for she knew that the moment her father’s men were dismissed, he’d return her kiss, ask her about her day, and say things that would make her giggle.

Sansa Stark would never do such a thing. Though she had a gift for communicating warmth with little to no effort, she is unfailingly formal with everyone and anyone over the age of three-and-ten. While her concern and affection for the king isn’t in question, she shows no interest in crossing certain boundaries, and Davos doubts that Stannis would be receptive to her in the same way if she did. 

And yet, it is clear to anyone who watches the two that Stannis sits not on the Iron Throne, but in the palm of Sansa Stark’s tapered hand.

She is one of the only people who dares to contradict him, and when she did, the worst she ever got was a scowl, a sharp word or two, and a show of resistance that lasted about as long as a virgin boy with his first whore. 

It doesn’t take long for people to notice that the king’s legendary austerity is at its height in her absence, and that in her presence, the man almost manages to relax. That the two share comments, and that when Lady Stark laughs at something the king said, he is prone to making more of his sardonic remarks. That he is content to sit back and smirk at times when the lady would have some sort of triumph, and that he reserves the height of his disgust and disdain for anyone who slights her. 

That he actually seems to do more than simply tolerate his interactions with her. 

The fact that the Lady of the North receives more honors, privileges, and general favor from him than almost anyone else at court (save for maybe Davos himself) does not go unnoticed. Or how the young woman whose lands were reduced to frozen ruins just a few years ago, who had walked the court in kirtles three sizes two small less than half a decade prior, now floats about in the most enviable silks and velvets. Or how the king’s own attire is rather complementary to the styles Lady Stark chooses for herself.

In the weeks leading up to Stannis’s coronation, Davos pleads with Lady Stark to stop wasting her time sewing and embroidering a festive doublet for the king, as he’s never seen the man in anything but brown, black, or grey over the thirty years he’s known him. Yet at the coronation itself, the king arrives bedecked in Baratheon gold embroidered by the lady’s hand. It's the sort of thing Renly would have worn

When Davos remarks upon this to the king, Stannis merely grunts and replies, “If anything, my brother did have fine taste in apparel. And she does fine work.”

Davos's jaw drops at hearing this. Stannis, admitting a quality of his younger brother's.

For most of the kingdom, Stannis’s affection for his ward is the first and only evidence that their king possesses a heart. Some say he is in love with her. Others claimed she is the daughter he’d always wished for instead of that poor, disfigured creature Selyse Florent gave him. Both impressions are wrong. 

Still, it opens the world’s eyes to the fact that this man can love. And it softens, even endears him to others in an unprecedented manner.

If the northern girl wasn’t simply intelligent and efficient, that alone would be enough to make her an invaluable asset to Stannis’s reign. But she is good at what she does.

Though Davos has to admit, the young woman seems to have a talent for softening the hearts of even the most intractable and harsh men. Sandor Clegane, once the Lannisters’ monstrous Hound, resurfaces at Castle Black during the war, swearing himself to the woman’s service. 

Lord Jon Snow, whose reserved manner earns him a reputation for being as cold as his name, saves his smiles for her. 

Tyrion Lannister, whose annulled marriage to her wounded his manhood, whose reputation for coarseness and lack of sentimentality is renowned, always takes care to behave himself around her. 

Before long, Sansa travels through the streets of King’s Landing to the shouts of “Queen Sansa!” She is the subject of songs as the maiden who had softened a king’s stony heart. Who keeps the kingdom warm through winter. 

Stannis himself becomes the subject of cheering crowds. That is disorienting enough for the man. The first time they started chanting “Marry Sansa, give us our queen!”, he slips off his saddle and might have cracked his head open if not for the quick intervention of his Kingsguard.

After a year, Davos himself confronts Stannis about it one night in the king’s study.

“I believe the time has come, Your Grace,” he says, leaning over his liege’s desk, “To cement Lady Stark’s position.”

Stannis looks up from the edict he’s inspecting. “I’d think with three separate fiefdoms across two of the seven kingdoms, Lady Stark’s position is already perfectly secure.”

“You know that’s not what I mean, Sire,” Davos replies, “She’s young, in her prime. Forgive me, but you are not. You have no heirs. You’re widowed. She’s still a maiden. You’ve now settled into your throne, in large part thanks to her. Now that the crown is resting comfortably on your brow, it’s time to give her one as well.”

His king gives him a look like he’d just declared himself to be Garth Greenhand reborn. “I’d hoped you’d at least be immune to this madness, Ser Davos. I could not possibly marry Lady Stark.”

“Why?! You’ve all but made her queen already!”

“She’s Lady of Winterfell. She has her own property, her own name to pass down. She can’t do that marrying me. Besides, she’s just a girl-”

“-You of all people should know that she’s anything but. And she’s nearly seven-and-ten. Well into marriageable age! Her prime!”

“She’s a child as long as she’s my ward. And my guardianship of her lasts until she is eight-and-ten. I am not going to force my young ward to marry me and sacrifice her family name and legacy. We may be in King’s Landing, but I’m still no Lannister.”

Davos groans at this. “And what of the lady’s feelings on the matter?”

“I am certain Lady Stark has no interest in marrying anyone, least of all me.”

“You don’t think, after all this time, she may be expecting this? You placed her in charge of your bloody household!”

“I declared myself her legal guardian!” Stannis gets to his feet. “Lady Stark is my ward. Legally, she’s my daughter but for name and blood. And she goes unwed, untouched, untethered. I decided what sort of claim I’d lay upon her three years ago, and that is the only claim any man shall lay upon her! She has no time in her life for anything but public service, nor any interest elsewhere. And I demand that be respected!”

  
The Onion Knight responds with a bow, and says not another word about it for months afterwards.


	2. A Name Day in the Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets teased by the two most important men in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Eilit for beta-ing and Happy Birthday Tommyginger!

Sansa:

From the tips of her fingers and toes to the center of her gut, the Lady of Winterfell nearly vibrates from excitement. This is despite the fact she couldn’t get a wink of sleep the night before. She was kept awake by fears of rain or some sort of accident, or of the king’s disapproval. But aside from a drizzle just before dawn, the day proves sunny, bright, and temperate. Perfect. The sky is the color of a robin’s egg, not a cloud in sight. 

This shall be her second attempt at this. And this day has been months in the making. At first light, she’s receiving reports and issuing orders from behind her dress screen while her maids lace her into a new gown of lemon silk trimmed in ivory. She cannot waste a moment before she’s due for breakfast with the king.

Today is her chance to succeed where she failed a year ago, to at long last make Stannis Baratheon smile. 

Or, at least, form an expression resembling one as much as the man is capable. 

The king’s smiles were always endangered, but rendered extinct with the death of Shireen.

But if three dragons could be brought to life after years of extinction, than so could his capacity for joy.

If she fails today, she’ll only have one more chance before her eighteenth Name Day, before her childhood officially ends and she returns to Winterfell full time.

A return to the North… A dream. But one she’s not quite ready to realize, not without doing a few things first.

It’s amazed her, really, how different things are for her now. She swore she’d never return to King’s Landing. And when the king requested she accompany him back to the South to complete her education, she’d felt no small amount of trepidation. If she hadn’t believed that Stannis’s request was truly that -a request, not a command- she might have run. But for some reason, by that point she’d already begun developing this strange, unexpected bond with the man that made her trust him. 

Thankfully, the trust isn’t misplaced. 

As much as she longs for Winterfell, she has created a place for herself here, one that not only makes her feel safe, but makes her feel as if she’s doing something important. As if she’s exploring and fulfilling her potential in ways that truly matter.

Even Sandor admits that “the little bird is truly flying.”

Sandor, like her, thought he’d never return to this place. But he has, and the fact that he hasn’t dragged her out of here is indication alone that things have changed.

It’s not just that she’s now free and respected and powerful. Or that she has fine dresses and good rooms and a place at court that others envy. Or that she doesn’t have to fear beatings, or that no one calls her stupid or threatens her or her family.

It’s that she’s doing things that are important, and she’s learning without suffering.

As an advisor, Sansa witnesses the ongoing processes of government, has access to all manner of information, and is able to put what she learned during her captive years to use, to ends beyond mere survival. If she’d known half the things she’s learned since her return when the War of the Dawn began, she could have done so much more for her people.

Everyone says she carried the North through that crisis “beautifully”, that her insight, ingenuity, strength, and courage saved so many, that it’s the reason Stannis trusts her and her vassals respect her, despite her age and sex. But Sansa looks back on her service during the war and sees a mosaic of missed opportunities and mistakes. Things she could have done, or wouldn’t have done, if she’d understood the processes of governance better.

She handled a crisis once, and if another comes, she’ll handle that one better. And that’s in addition to the work she’s doing now to benefit the North from the heart of the Seven Kingdoms. She co-rules with Howland Reed, her regent-in-absentia, through daily correspondence and scheduled visits. But she also does active work here. In the wake of raids, war, winter, and famine, the North was sucked dry, and became dependent on outside aid. Sansa’s managed to make deals here that have ensured her kingdom isn’t drowned in debt, acquiring information, employing access, and conducting discourse to the North’s advantage that would only be possible in King’s Landing. Her presence here has allowed her country to conduct business directly, anticipate circumstances and events, and explore previously untouched opportunities. Instead of debt, they have trade. Instead of loans, they have payments. 

The fact that she has direct access to and influence over the king doesn’t hurt, either.

But that’s the other thing: Stannis. 

Stannis Baratheon is a good, strong king. A devoted, dutiful, and smart ruler who actually cares about his obligations. He’s the king Westeros needs. But he’s also tragically determined to make sure no one knows, recognizes, or appreciates this. And that is a problem. It impedes progress and cooperation, it sews discontent, breeds disloyalty and perfidy, and erodes moral.

Which is everything the Seven Kingdoms can’t afford, if they are to remain unified. 

Her efforts to smooth his rough edges, temper his more caustic impulses, enhance his appeal have helped. She knows it. She’s helped him be the king he should be. And when the king does well, so does Westeros. And the North is part of Westeros.

Also… despite everything… he’s a good man. A rough man, a hard man, an obstinate, rude, sometimes very short-sighted man, but a good one. And he’s lonely. And hurt. 

Sansa loves her king. Despite his rough manners and stubbornness, or perhaps even because of them, she loves him. 

And she just wants to make him happy once before she must give herself entirely to the North.

She also wants to move on, though. It's time, or nearly time, for her to take the next step. But first: she'll make Stannis Baratheon smile.

This time, she thinks she’s gotten it right. Last year, she’d not been under his care full time for very long. And everyone was adjusting to life right after the war. She’d arranged for the most renowned minstrels, singers, and dancers, and a tourney for the king’s Name Day celebration. By midday she knew her efforts were only going to elicit annoyance from him. 

But this time… This time…

Everything seems to go smoothly as she prepares for the day. Everything is on schedule, nothing and no one is missing. Still, butterflies fill her stomach.

So much so that it causes a severe setback when she reports to breakfast with the king on his private veranda. Stannis Baratheon, surly as ever, more or less grunts his greeting, with a remark that she “looks well this morning” and uttering a single syllable of thanks when she wishes him a Happy Name Day. He practically burrows into his eggs and kippers. That’s fine. No different from any other morning.

But then there’s a setback when he notices she’s consumed nothing more than half a cup of water. “There’s food in front of you, My Lady. Why aren’t you eating it?”

The king never espouses her mother’s favorite old adage of “There are children out there starving!” For Stannis, that’s too obvious to be stated plainly. But he does not approve of wasted food anymore than Catelyn Tully did. And he has a way of embarrassing a person for things like this with merely the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes.

“My stomach is a bit too shaken, Your Grace,” she replies, her cheeks going red, “Nerves.”

“Why?” He demands, “What’s gone wrong? I hope you haven’t caused any trouble with all your fussing and frolics over today.”

“Everything is as it should be,” Sansa assures him, now rolling her eyes. The other thing about her interactions with the king is how quickly her emotional state can shift while speaking with him. The man is almost perpetually irritated, and he’s good at spreading the feeling. She’s learned to dismiss his own dismissals of her work with only mild indignation “But I’m still nervous. I doubt I’ll be able to properly eat anything until it’s too late for anything to go wrong.”

“Just take care of it if it does,” he answers shortly, “I don’t want to have to worry about you while I’m on this hunt you’ve forced upon me.”

“It’s not a hunt,” she reminds for the tenth time. She’d learned her lesson last year when Stannis responded to a proper hunt by insisting that he isn’t Robert, and marching everyone back to the Red Keep an hour into the planned excursion. “You’re going fishing with your gentlemen on the Blackwater.”

“There’re fish in the Blackwater? I’d have thought the Imp’s wildfire would have killed them all.”

“They’ve replenished since then,” she informs him, rolling her eyes again. He knows this.

“They’re probably all green, though.”

_ And they probably are deformed and born with extra heads and fins and their flesh is probably poisonous anyways even though I’ve had it plenty of times by now and they’ll probably explode and burn the Keep down when we try to cook them and the ship will probably sink and a thousand other dire, hideous things you can imagine.  _ But it’s no use to say this aloud. Stannis, she’s discovered, has come to enjoy trying to provoke people. In many cases, it’s because he delights in seeing how much the sycophants of the court will tolerate in pursuit of royal favor.  With her, she suspects that he wants to test her ladylike resolve. But her armor does not break. “I’ve been assured by the city’s fishermen that they’re a perfectly normal color.”

She meets his eyes and with them, silently assures him that that won’t work. He deepens his scowl, swallows a forkful of kipper, then speaks again.

“There won’t be too many going, will there? If I’m going to fish, I want to do it in peace and quiet, so I can concentrate. I don’t want to spend the whole morning wiping the spittle from foppish lordlings trying to whisper some nonsense in my ear.”

“It’s Ser Davos, two of his boys, Lord Morrigen, Lord Connington, the Farring brothers, Willas Tyrell, Edric, Ser Gendry, and Jon.”

He grunts. “Good.”

“Speaking of which…” She smiles and gestures to one of her attendants. They bring out a long, narrow parcel wrapped in shimmering paper. “Happy Name Day.”

Stannis pushes his chair out and takes the parcel in his lap.

“I had it special ordered, it’s a new model from Lys,” she says as he unwraps it.

The king holds the rod up and glances at her. “From Lys? I wasn’t aware they made whores small enough to ship in boxes.” He shakes the rod for emphasis.

“Maybe I should have ordered you some motley instead,” she snaps back.

There’s a long, awkward pause. Their eyes meet. And the closest thing Stannis has to a smile appears. She pouts. He won. But he’s gracious in victory, and nods his head.

“Thank you, Lady Stark. It is a most excellent gift.”

Coming from anyone else, his voice would sound devoid of emotion. But Sansa hears a relative softness to it. Even those rigid shoulders of his relax ever so slightly. Her heart rises. She gets to her feet and curtseys. “You’re most welcome, Your Grace.”

If he was truly her father, she would wrap her arms about his neck and place a kiss to his cheek. But he isn’t, and she can’t. And it’s not in either of their natures to pretend otherwise. She wishes Shireen were still alive and here to give him the embraces she can’t. Not for the first time, her heart aches at his loneliness. 

Sansa spends the whole morning on her feet, rushing around the main gardens, monitoring everything she can as decorations are erected, furniture is assembled, and plates are laid out. She’s in the midst of inspecting each and every individual placecard, ensuring that the gold calligraphy is utterly flawless, when all of a sudden she’s yanked by the waist behind a hedge.

It takes all of her self-control not to scream. She reminds herself that if she were in danger, there’d be a hand over her mouth to keep her from it. 

She finds herself in one of the larger hedge enclaves where they’re keeping the large models meant for the tableau later. Indeed, she’s pressed up against the wall of the large, mock-castle on wheels.

And face to face with someone wearing the most undeserved smirk in existence. She wants to slap that handsome face.

“Jon!” She whispers in annoyance. “You frightened me! What in the Father’s Name do you think you’re doing here, anyways? You’re supposed to be on Willas Tyrell’s barge, reeling in trout.”

“Trout aren’t native to the Blackwater,” he corrects her teasingly, taking a free auburn ringlet of her hair between his fingers, “It’s salmon and bass fishing.”

“Whatever!” She snaps. “Why aren’t you there?”

“We just got back, My Lady,” he informs her with a smile, “Don’t tell me you’ve lost track of time!”

Right. It’s noon. The fishing party is supposed to be getting back. She’s been keeping track, but in her alarm at being grabbed, she failed to connect the two. Jon likes catching her at unawares, though. Sometimes, she wonders if it’s the last vestige of their past as siblings. But she’s in no mood for it now, and as long as she makes that clear, he stops.

“That’s not funny,” she retorts, her hands covering his as their snake up her waist, “Did everyone enjoy themselves?”

“You mean, ‘Did the king enjoy himself?’ Who can ever tell with him?” Jon replies, his manner turning to back to his usual directness, “He didn’t hate it. He caught several bass. No one mentioned any unwed daughters, sisters, nieces, or cousins. No one shared fond memories of Robert or Renly. No one sought any favors. No one started singing. Discussion was kept strictly to fish, sailing, the weather, horses, food, architecture, and military history.”

Sansa breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she says, relaxing slightly, and lifting a hand to his cheek. She often relied on Jon or Davos to keep the men of the court in line at masculine gatherings. And she could always trust Jon to tell her exactly what she wanted and needed to know. He was good at reading her needs. With that accomplished, she relaxes somewhat and smiles at him, “How did you find it?

“Dull as sludge. So Stannis probably had the time of his life.”

“Don’t be unkind,” she says, even as she giggles, “And you checked in with the dragons before returning to the keep?”

Keeping Rhaegal and Viserion was Jon’s official position at court. Stannis didn’t care for the beasts, but wasn’t keen to simply let them go feral. As “Master of the Dragons”, Jon’s duties primarily revolved around making it as easy as possible for the king to ignore the creatures’ existence. Jon enjoys the actual work immensely, however. Even if the -admittedly practical and necessary- post was mostly an excuse to keep the heir presumptive under the king’s eye. He smiles.

“Of course. They’re in perfect health, in perfect spirits. Perhaps a little restless. But if you wish, I can take you flying tonight and we can wear out some of that energy.”

Sansa’s breath catches. Jon’s been yearning to take her flying for over a year now, but a combination of secrecy, training necessities, and scheduling has kept that from happening. 

“I don’t know,” she says doubtfully, “I’ve planned this whole day. I’ll probably be missed if I’m not here when everything is put away.”

“Just say you’re exhausted,” he tells her, face furrowing with concern, “It won’t even be a lie.”

“Then what makes you think I’ll have the energy to fly?”

Jon begins playing with her hair again. “You’ve never been too tired for me.”

She sighs. He’s right. “I make no promises, Jon Snow.”

He steals a kiss before looking around the enclave, examining the various set structures. “What’s this supposed to be, anyways?”

“Storm’s End,” she replies, “They’re going to re-enact the Tyrell siege against it during Robert’s Rebellion.”

“You’re not going to have anyone playing Selyse or Renly, are you?”

“Of course not!” She snaps, annoyed, “It’s all Stannis, bravely withstanding three years of a siege, with only his trusty Onion Knight for help. The script barely even mentions Robert. Just talk of House Baratheon standing against the storm of tyranny and enduring the reigns of unfit kings.”

Jon nods. “Good thinking. Still, you don’t worry this is still a bit much?”

“Three years of a blockade and naval attacks are a bit much. It’s arguably his greatest victory that doesn’t involve dragons. And it’s nothing. You should have seen the re-enactment of the War of the Five Kings at Joffrey and Margaery’s wedding.” She shudders at the memory. 

“If you say so.”

She glances at him sideways. It’s not like him to second-guess her like this. “Something’s amiss. What is it?”

The mischief fades from Jon’s face, and he moves to lean back against the false castle wall next to her.

“I’m growing weary of this,” he tells her, “Truly weary. I don’t think I can do this much longer.”

Her stomach sinks. Not now. Why now? 

“It’s not so much longer,” she says gently, “Only a-”

“-A year?” He snaps impatiently. “Sansa, in a year, we went from our happy childhood at Winterfell to Father’s head on a pike, you as a hostage, Robb leading armies, Theon laying siege against Bran and Rickon, and me killing the Halfhand. A year after that, half our family was dead and I was riding dragons against the White Walkers. This is absurd. Stannis named you ruling Lady of Winterfell, no regent, and you managed throughout the war to keep half the continent afloat, weathering as many challenges and duties in a year as your father did in ten! The age of majority is supposed to be six-and-ten, not eight-and-ten. Bran and Rickon are in Winterfell, waiting for us. The entire North waits for us. I wait for you. And Stannis has kept you here all this time playing house and spit-shining his reign. Treating you as a child, when you grew up years ago.”

“He just wants to pro-” She actually means that. She knows what it is to be condescended to and treated as lesser. That’s not the case here. But Jon cuts her off regardless.

“-He just wants to delay starting over,” Jon interrupts, “He’s using you as an excuse not to seek out a new queen and sire new heirs. He’s using both of us to do that. He promised you Winterfell. Then dragged you away, back to your prison, putting you to all the work of being queen while denying you the crown.”

Her left eyebrow arches. “You’d rather he make me queen, then?”

“I’d rather he stop encouraging everyone to think of you that way,” Jon says sourly.

Sansa snorts. “Stannis has no intention of marrying-”

“-Not now, maybe. But how long before all those crowds chanting finally convince him? He’s greedy for the popularity you bring him, Sansa. Eventually, he’ll decide that he can’t go without it.”

“Stop it,” she snaps, “You don’t get to do this to me. It’s not fair. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and handling him. I’m the only person who can really handle him anymore. You don’t know better. You don’t get to pretend to know better.”

Jon steps back, then moves to lean back against the fake castle wall next to her. He cups his brow and groans. “I’m sorry, I just… I thought he’d have found a new bride by now… It was supposed to be Daenerys. She wasn’t supposed to have died. She was supposed to go south with him, be his queen, leave us be, let us go home. And we were passing through the streets and people were calling out, asking him if today was the day he’d give the people their queen… Do you know what that’s like? What it’s like watching you sit by his side, enter chambers on his arm? And the secrecy, Sansa! People look at us and think us siblings! We have to hide what we have like a shameful secret. I have to hide this huge part of who I am. Who we are. All while living in the place that destroyed our family. I just want to feel safe. I want to know we’re still going home. That no one is going to take you from me.”

Her heart breaks.

She hangs her head. “Alright.”

He looks at her. “What?”

“Alright. I’ll… I’ll make the arrangements. But you have to wait a little longer, alright? If we’re going to do this, we have to lay a foundation for it.” She begins pacing. “Depending how quick you want this, you may have to endure some pain.”

He grins. “You’ve been thinking about this too, haven’t you?”

“Maybe,” she admits, “But I’m not so eager as you are.”


	3. Second Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to eilit for her beta-ing! And Happy Birthday Week to Tommyginger!

Davos:

The second time he witnesses his king cry, it’s when he loses another daughter. Only this time, Stannis is the one to give her up.

It’s months in the making. And it starts on the king’s Name Day, during the grand banquet Lady Stark arranges. Some time well into the evening, even Stannis starts to notice the strange looks and whispers behind hands directed towards the high table. 

The fatal mistake is made that night. A drunken reveler saunters up to the high table. Not even a knight, but a squire of four-and-ten at most, his pimpled faced reddened by drink. He wishes the king a most glorious name day, then says, “I’m sure you’ll be as great a king as your brother.”

“Thank you,” Stannis says, trying not to grind his teeth at the comparison.

“From what I hear, he also had a weakness for pretty young Starks. But maybe you should listen to the people and marry this one before…?” And with that, the lad jerks his head in the direction of Lord Snow, sitting at the next table down. 

No one had ever dared question Lady Stark’s virtue openly. Indeed, her virginity is actually on public record. It was documented. And even if it wasn’t, who would dare…?

And that’s when Stannis makes his mistake.

It is the same sort of gesture any father would make in response to his daughter’s honor being questioned. That’s what it’s meant as. 

But Stannis is not Lady Stark’s father. She is not his daughter. She has been the one sitting by his side and managing his household for the past year. 

So when Stannis rises and subconsciously puts his hand on the lady’s shoulder, as always when it comes to Stannis Baratheon, everyone misinterprets it. 

They see their king violently cast a terrified greenboy out of court over a drunken jape on behalf of the beautiful, unwed young woman by his side. The un-queen of Stannis Baratheon’s court.

And that’s when it’s over. 

Not that they know it at the time. Jon Snow intervenes, escorting a red-faced Lady Stark back to her quarters like any loving kinsman might. But not after this poor, stupid squire finds himself facing challenges from both his king and his king’s only heir presumptive.

And all at once, everyone suspects a lie, and no one suspects the truth. 

Davos has no idea. That night, he finds himself once again urging his king to marry the maiden. 

“Your Grace, her reputation is starting to suffer! The time has come! Both of your honor is at stake!” 

Stannis grinds his teeth and clenches his fists and says nothing.

Court is quiet, careful, cautious for days afterward. No one dares so much as look at the king or Lady Stark for too long. Lord Snow escorts the lady everywhere. Both he and the king glare daggers at everyone.

Davos isn’t sure what happens next. But he never expects to be woken up in the middle of the night by Lady Stark, crying her eyes out. 

“My Lord, it’s all my fault!” She wails, eyes bloodshot and nose running. Davos has never seen her act this way. He’s seen this woman burn infant corpses with a straight face. He tries to quiet her, ushering her in, giving her a blanket, sitting her by the fire with some ale. 

“Ser Davos, I’m to blame for all of this. I’ve utterly betrayed the king!”

Davos panics. He thinks he knows what she’s telling him when he hears this. Sansa Stark is about to confess to plotting to become Stannis’s queen. To planting the gossip, to encouraging the court and the city to see her as his queen, to trying to seduce a man who saw her as a daughter, to perhaps instigating the people’s chanting. 

Not quite.

“I don’t understand,” he responds, under the false assumption that he does.

But she doesn’t give him the expected confession. No, Lady Stark says nothing of trying to be Stannis’s queen. No, not at all. She is happy being his surrogate daughter. The thought of anyone thinking of her being with the king in such a way disgusts her.

Rather, she divulges the fact that for nearly three years, she’s been engaged in a secret love affair with her cousin. The man she grew up calling ‘Half-brother.’ That the two of them have been in love and planning a future together since the war.

The Onion Knight gapes at his fellow courtier, all while the wheels inside his head began turning in perfect alignment, as if they’d been running on a broken axle until that moment.

“We didn’t mean for this to happen!” She cries. “We thought the war would end and Stannis would go south with Daenerys! She wasn’t supposed to die! We thought we’d be free to go home! Stannis had offered Jon Winterfell before! That he’d want Jon’s claim, Robb’s will, and Northern independence neutralized! We thought we were truly free to love one another! We’re cousins, just like our Stark grandparents! We wanted to go home! And there were no other people who understood us like the other did! We found each other again and it was like… We felt like one person. We belonged to each other! We still do! But back then, it was all worked out! Then Daenerys died and…” 

She descends into sobs. “I didn’t expect the king to become a father to me! I had no idea he was so lonely, that he’d need me! I didn’t think people would demand I be queen! Jon has no lands, he’s still technically a bastard. Marrying him, I could have my own heirs, continue the Stark name. The king… The king is like a father to me! I thought it was obvious to everyone. And Jon and I were so careful! I never thought anyone would think…”

Davos does his best to absorb this. When he looks back on this, he thinks he did so rather well. Still, he has to ask…

“Lady Stark, you’re not… in a condition, are you?” Stannis mentioned during the fishing trip that she’d had an upset stomach at breakfast that morning.

“No!” Sansa wails. “Gods, no! Jon and I, we haven’t… He’d never… I’d never… We’d never risk a bastard, not after what Jon suffered, not when so much depends on us. And I know I represent the king. I wouldn’t do that to him. Never! Jon and I have kissed and touched, but no more than that! I’m still a virgin, Ser Davos, I swear it!”

That is a tremendous relief. Less of a relief is her proceeding to beg him to help her tell the king.

“Talk to him, please, Ser Davos! Convince him to let us marry!”

The Onion Knight refuses. Not because he’s unsympathetic, though his position certainly may sound that way. 

“This is your affair, Lady Stark, not mine. Yours and Lord Snow’s. I will keep your secret. But it is up to you to handle this. If I’m involved, it’ll only convince him that you have more to hide. It has to come from you, and you alone.”

Looking back, Davos realizes he never really understood Sansa Stark. Not completely. She’s never pretended to be perfectly altruistic, at least not behind closed doors. She’s thrown support behind harsh measures in her tenure as an advisor, and more than once displayed capacity for subterfuge in her service to Stannis. Nor has she ever behaved in a way that made him believe that she is ashamed of her willingness to manipulate others when she feels it necessary. Never once did the young woman pretend to be any less forthright than her liege to the inner circle. But for some odd reason, Davos assumed for the longest time that her capacity for ruses never be used to mislead those she loved. Which is why he did not predict what came next.

It is only a fortnight later. The king asks him to walk in the garden with him, help him get some fresh air. 

He and Stannis traverse the hedge maze, navigating to the heart of it as they spoke. And when they round the corner to the center of the maze, they find them. Lady Stark, horizontal against one of the marble benches next to the fountain, her bodice open, Lord Jon atop her, practically devouring her face and squeezing her left breast.

Davos hasn’t seen Stannis move that quickly since the war. One second, his king is beside him, at the edge of the center clearing. The next moment, he is in the fountain, on top of Jon Snow, driving his fists into his bastard cousin’s face. Lady Stark is on her feet, clutching her bodice closed and screaming for the king to stop.

Jon Snow’s blood begins staining the crystal waters of the fountain when Lady Stark says it.

_ “Father, I love him!” _

It’s the second time he’s seen Stannis cry.

~_~_~_~_~

Stannis:

It’s as if she’s cast an enchantment, one more powerful than any he witnessed at the hands of the Red Witch. 

Stannis can’t hurt Snow. Sansa loves him. 

He hates Jon Snow with a passion. He’s now taking Sansa away as well. But Sansa loves the young man.

And Sansa called Stannis ‘Father.’

The king can’t hurt the things she loves. He’s her father.

And Sansa is a smart girl. Wise. World-weary. If she loves Jon, it will be for the right reasons, because she knows all the wrong ones. No one knows wrong love like Sansa Stark. 

She means what she says, when she says she loves him.

She also meant it when she called him ‘Father.’

Even bloody and half-submerged, the bastard looks like Ned Stark, if Ned Stark had been pretty. Regardless of who sired him, this shit is Ned’s boy. 

Ned took Stannis’s brother. 

Now his boy takes Stannis’s daughters, and, eventually, his throne. 

That’s not entirely fair, he knows it. Jon Snow was dead when they burned Shireen. He had no part in that. 

But he still benefited, and Stannis deep down can’t forgive him for that. And now?

Now the lad would take Sansa, too.

Stannis knows this as he rises out of the water and meets eyes with the young woman. She’s anxious, tear-swept, but firm as steel. As always. She loves him. This is non-negotiable. There is nothing to be done but the right thing.

Rarely has the right thing been so painful. Or so clear. 

Over the course of what seems like his absurdly long life, time and again, the ‘right’ thing seems hard to discern. At one point, he thought he was setting things right, that he was making the right sacrifices to restore the Seven Realms and protect them. It’s why he followed along with Melisandre for so long. He was always skeptical of her God and prophecies, of her claims of him being “Azor Ahai Reborn”. But one couldn’t argue with the inexplicable results of her powers, her magic, whatever it was. He thought he was using for ultimately the right purposes… 

...It lost him his daughter. His legacy. The living embodiment of the heart even Stannis suspected he didn’t have.  

He’d truly thought they were right for so long. The people who claim he has nothing within him. That he is incapable of love or joy. In his youth, he resigned himself to that, to bitterness, and little else. Then Shireen arrived and he knew… 

He has a heart. It beats now. It breaks now. 

It breaks as he offers a hand to Jon Snow and pulls him out. 

The king looks at the young woman who just called him ‘Father.’

Shireen never much cared for Melisandre. She was a sweet soul, but beneath the sweetness, beneath the mad jesters, the mottled skin, and her sheltered existence, she had instincts. She’d have known what man to love, had she lived.

Sansa’s been everywhere, and her experiences in some ways are the opposite of his daughter’s. Far from being disfigured and ostracized, from her earliest days she’s been a renowned beauty. That word was used for her since she would have been eleven. Stannis remembers Robert discussing her as a prospective match for Joffrey. ‘A maid of only a year younger than the prince, already a great beauty.’ A distinction, as even most great beauties aren’t characterized in terms beyond ‘pretty’ or even ‘fair’ until they’ve at least flowered. 

Not that it did Sansa much more good than being disfigured did Shireen, as it turned out. At least, not for many years. Stannis knows, because of the things she’s told him. About Joffrey. About Littlefinger. About Dontos. Marillion. Lady Lysa. Harry Hardyng. Tyrion Lannister. It’s why, for all the Lannister’s cleverness and potential, Stannis gave him Casterly Rock on the conditions that a) He formally renounce all claim to Lady Sansa and b) Stay at his family home permanently.  

Sansa knows falseness. She was drowned in the myths attached to love. The horrors that an untrue suitor can bring. The traps of granted intimacy, marriage, love in general. 

She knows good men and bad men. 

She knows how to guard her heart. How not to lose it.

But, apparently, she knows how to give it away. And if so, Stannis knows it must be for the right reasons.

And there’s no wrong one he can think of when it comes to his cousin, really. Jon Targaryen fought bravely, nobly, honorably. He consistently displays an interest in service over ambition. He is honest, careful, dutiful, and kind. When Stannis returned to the Wall to learn what happened, the young man offered up his head to him.

Stannis couldn’t take it. And when he refused, Snow was furious. Stannis, as he lifts the young man from the fountain, recalls his suicidal rant back at Castle Black.

“But I’m a freak of nature! I’m the realization of everything that witch burned your daughter for! Execute Melisandre and Selyse, fine, but as long as I live, they ultimately get what they wanted! They win!”

“Someone has to,” Stannis had replied, “Now get out of my sight.”

As soon as Jon Targaryen is on his feet, Stannis turns and marches out of the fountain, out of the enclosure. Davos tries to follow, but the king waves him away.

The next morning, he summons his cousin to his solar, making sure to be sharpening a blade when Jon arrives.

Jon Targaryen’s face is bruised and bandaged. His speech is a little off thanks to his swollen lip and broken nose. This pleases Stannis more than he’d like to admit. He dismisses the servants, leaving the two men alone.

“Exactly how much of your position do you truly comprehend, my lord?” Stannis demands as he runs the whetstone down the length of the magnificent Valyrian longsword, a freshly-forged and unnamed piece forged from the spoils of the fallen House Lannister.

As usual, Jon Targaryen hesitates, as he almost always does when speaking to practically everyone.  _ Except one person,  _ Stannis muses, as he has all throughout the prior sleepless night,  _ how did I not see it before? _ Even back when he was Jon Snow, the young man measured his words like a miser with his gold. Careful not to promise too much, to carefully work around the little traps Stannis tried to ensnare him in back at The Wall. Many people believed the man to be dull-witted. These same people are as correct about that as they are about Stannis being heartless.

No, Jon is just cautious, in much the way Sansa is cautious. Many people thought of Sansa as a fool for a long time as well. Cersei Lannister,  _ marvelous  _ judge of character as she was, thought so. No, the Starks, especially this generation of Starks, or what’s left of them, are merely careful. While Sansa was trained in the arts of charm and conversation and voraciously pursued the art of wordplay throughout her life, Jon was raised a bastard and was never trained for courtly life. Nor did he show much interest in it later on. 

It didn’t make him stupid. It just makes him particularly good at playing the part, and Stannis suspects that this is by design. 

“I have a good idea of what my place is, Sire,” Jon finally replies. Stannis’s eyes narrow. 

“Last night’s events suggest otherwise.”

“I disagree.” 

The king grinds his teeth. “Perhaps my generosity in letting you assume your father’s name has confused you, then. I may let you call yourself a Targaryen, but there is a reason I have not named you a prince. Your place at court- your service- is yet more of my generosity. You are still a bastard with nothing to your once-great name, your only chance at inheriting a thing depending on whether or not I choose to procreate before I die. You have no property, no title, and, with the fall of the Wall, you have no command, either. Even your life continues by my will, and, I assure you, there are many who think that too generous.” 

Jon nods. “I am aware.”

“Lady Stark, on the other hand,” Stannis says, trying not to grind the whetstone into the steel too harshly, “Is the Chief Lady of the Realm and one of my most powerful vassals. She holds more land than nearly every other lord in Westeros combined. She is born of not one, but two Great Houses, the trueborn daughter of not just Winterfell, but Riverrun. She is the ward of the King, and both the youngest advisor to serve on the Small Council, but only the second woman to serve without being Queen. She is Mistress of the Royal Court. She’s been the prospective consort of not only multiple Lords Paramount, but multiple Kings as well. And that was before becoming Lady of the North, the first woman to rule there in four hundred years. People in the streets demand I make her queen. And you put your hands on her.”

“Your Grace, with all due respect,” Jon says after a long pause, “I don’t have absolutely nothing to my name. I have a few accomplishments,” he says this with a slight slyness to his tone, “And forgive me, but loving Sansa in the manner she should be loved is certainly one of my finest. I will not apologize or act ashamed of what we have. I have done her no wrong, put her at no risk, taken no liberties she hasn’t granted. She could be Queen of a New Valyrian Empire, and I wouldn’t care. It’s not as if you’ll ever give those crowds what they want, as if you’ll put your hands on her. You love her, I understand. You love her in a way she needs, in a way I never could. But it’s a similar situation with me. She’s a woman grown, and I love her in a way she needs, give her what you can’t. It has nothing to do with titles or wealth or land. We both know that’s not what she needs. All I ask of you is that you let me give her what she does.”

Stannis drops the blade and whetstone, gets to his feet, and paces. “So you haven’t-”

“-We have not coupled,” Jon says, “If her maidenhead is gone, she lost it to riding, not to me." 

Stannis watches the young man suspiciously. “I find that hard to believe.” If Jon were to get Sansa pregnant, it might force Stannis’s hand, after all. 

“If you don’t want to take my word for it, take hers,” Jon replies, “I’ll admit that we’ve indulged ourselves in ways you most certainly do not want to hear about, but if I wanted to put my child in her that badly, I would have by now. But I would never go about this in such a way. I’d never put her under duress like that.”

“How did you intend to go about this, then?”

“Honestly? We intended to wed when she reached her majority. Your blessing would have been sought, but-”

“-Not necessary once I was no longer her guardian,” Stannis says, grinding his teeth.

“I want this to be Sansa’s choice, Your Grace, not yours. She wishes to marry me.”

“It will  _ always  _ be her choice!” Stannis snaps, halting and turning to glare at his cousin. “What I want to know is how you will handle it. Say I wed as well, produce heirs to supplant you, will you still be happy, Jon Targaryen? Hero of the Dawn? Would-be King? You will not wed Sansa as her Lord and Husband. You will wed her as her Husband and  _ Consort _ . Without the Iron Throne, the name you hold now will disappear forever. Your children will be Starks. Your life will be serving her, serving Winterfell. She shall rule, she shall hold it all: the titles, the wealth, the status, the authority, the rights. You will live and die more as Jon Stark of Winterfell, and not in the way I promised you years ago. But as the breeding stock, the second chair, the steward. You won’t be the long-lost, risen king, but the courtesy lord of Winterfell for all of your life. Are you, as a man, sure you can stomach that as your life?”

Even beneath the bruises and bandages, Stannis can see a wild change in emotions take over, though they’re hard to discern. Jon finally clears his throat.

“Ah, yes, Your Grace,” he says, with an odd undercurrent of humor to his voice, “I think I can. I think that a future as the lady’s steward, life in Winterfell by her side, sons named Stark, acting as Lady Sansa’s breeding stock suits my manhood fine.”

Stannis doesn’t need to interrogate the young man about seizing control of his prospective wife’s inheritance. He still remembers.  _ Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa. _

Still, he detects a certain subtext to Jon’s behavior. The young man knows something that Stannis doesn’t. Something he likely shares with Sansa. And Stannis cannot help but feel some jealousy.

He grits his teeth and turns back to the abandoned blade, lifting it and holding it out to his cousin. “Do you recognize this?”

Jon’s eyes widen. “That… That can’t be…”

“...It isn’t, exactly,” Stannis admits, “Once a blade like that has been mutilated the way Ice was, it can’t be exactly the same sword again. And I had the design adjusted to better suit its proper owner.”

Jon tears his eyes away from the Valyrian Steel briefly. “-May I?”

Stannis nods and hands it to his cousin. Jon holds it aloft, backs away, and gives it a few practice swings.

“It’s certainly much lighter,” he remarks, “Admittedly, the last time I lifted Ice, I was four-and-ten. It felt like it weighed a thousand stone, then.”

“It should be lighter,” Stannis replies, “Can you imagine her trying to hold that thing?”

Jon actually snorts. Then he lowers the blade and looks at Stannis in surprise. “You’re giving it to her?”

“No,” Stannis answers impatiently, “I’m  _ returning it  _ to her. The steel belongs to the Lord of Winterfell. She is Lord of Winterfell. I began tracking down the other half of it soon after I returned to King’s Landing. That enormous daughter of Selwyn Tarth had it. I-I wanted to make sure that even if it wasn’t just like her father’s, that all the Lannister in it was washed away. That it was truly  _ hers _ . I planned on giving it to her on her eighteenth Name Day. But it seems she’ll be wed before that, so…”

Jon nearly drops the blade. “So… you consent?” Stannis cringes. “Y-Yes,” he says, “Of course I bloody do. It won’t happen immediately, of course. It needs to happen in your family’s godswood, and all the preparations will have to be made. Your face needs time to heal. She’ll want her groom looking as handsome as possible. And I will settle for nothing less than magnificence for the occasion. You’ll be wed in the sight of the whole North, the whole court, and everyone that matters.  _ My daughter  _ deserves nothing less. Now pop outside and tell one of the pages to fetch her.”

 The happy tears and the way she embraces him almost make it worth it. Almost.

 A Stark took his brother. Now he’s handing his second daughter to another on a silver platter.

It takes several moons, moons that seem like decades, to arrange everything as perfectly as possible for the delighted bride to be. 

Not that there aren’t any moments of light. When word gets to Riverrun and the Eyrie of the wedding, for instance, both of her Tully uncles and her Arryn cousin ask if their services shall be required to give the bride away. She shakes her head immediately, blue eyes wide and round and dainty nose expelling a slight snort of derision. “Of course the king is to walk me to the Heart Tree. Who else?”

Who else, indeed? Stannis knows that the honor itself shall be agony, but hearing this still makes him melt a little inside.

And she’s so happy. So happy. If anything, that’s the balm that soothes him. 

Never has a nightmare been so joyous.

The court arrives at Winterfell, and Stannis is surprised to see how much progress has been made in restoring it. The walls are still strong, the inner structures restored, the Keep is glorious. The rooms and halls are surprisingly warm. The area within the wall glitter, not from snow, but from sunlight reflecting on the countless new glass gardens, which house explosions of greenery. 

Ever the dutiful lady, Sansa tours, catalogues, and surveys all of it. Despite her already intense efforts in wedding preparation, she re-assumes duties as ruling Lady of the castle almost upon arrival. 

He sees less of her as result, and Stannis cannot tell if that’s a blessing or a curse. Every glimpse of her, every word her overhears reminds him of what he’s losing. But gods, how he misses her already.

_ She’s so happy.  _ He repeats this to himself silently each day.

It’s pitch black, mere hours before the wedding is to happen, when there is frantic knocking at the door. Instincts honed by war, Stannis jumps to his feet, grabs the nearest blunt object, and raises it above his head as he sprints towards the door. 

He lowers it the moment he sees his tear-stained visitor.

“F-forgive me, F-father,” she says, her eyes like a wolf-pup’s, “B-b-but-”

Stannis drops the candlestick, throws his arm around her shoulders, and ushers her in, “No, no, come in. Please. What is amiss?”

His heart pounds. If that bastard did anything, he’ll destroy him. He’ll make the bastard pray for death by dragonfire by the time he’s only halfway done.

Propriety has always mattered to both of them, but Stannis feels that melt away in much the way it used to with Shireen. He finds himself bringing her to his bed and wrapping a blanket around her shoulders.

She’s still in her day gown, the one she wore to her pre-wedding ladies’ feast. Her hair isn’t even free from the silver decorative combs.

“I-I don’t kn-know wh-wh-what’s wrong with me!” She sobs, looking heavenward, “I love him! I do! B-but I-I-I l-l-l-love y-you t-too!”

Stannis stiffens. He isn’t sure whether to be touched or disturbed. “I don’t understand.”

“Wh-what i-i-if I-I’m wr-r-rong?!” She asks him, staring at him now, “Wh-wh-what i-i-if I r-r-really am st-st-stupid?! I think I-I’ve l-learned s-s-s-so m-much, but what if I-I-I’ve l-learned n-n-nothing?! I d-d-d-don’t w-w-want t-t-to l-l-leave y-you! I th-thought I w-w-w-was r-r-ready t-to l-leave a f-father b-b-b-bef-f-fore and l-look wh-what h-h-happ-ppened!”

Stannis’s heart sinks. “Sansa, you were only a child. And of course you’ve learned! I’ve watched you! You’ve done so beautifully-” 

“-W-with y-you!” She cries. “I-I-I’ve h-had y-y-y-you!” 

This is what his girl does to him. Just when he thinks his heart is shattered for good, she starts putting it back together again. 

“And I’ve had you,” he whispers, stroking her hair, “I might not have lasted this long without you. And besides, during the war, you didn’t have me, did you? You were here, I was at the Wall. It was you who cared for me, and everyone else. And you did so well.”

“N-not a-as well as I sh-should have,” she replies, starting to calm, “I l-l-look back and see all s-s-sorts of m-mistakes.”

“Well, if you need proof that you’ve learned something, there it is,” Stannis points out, his heart still putting itself back together. “Would a girl who has learned nothing think that way?” 

She shakes her head reluctantly. “Maybe, but… Father, what if I’m wrong about Jon? I love him so, so much, and I thought I trusted him, but… What if he isn’t different? And if he is, why can’t I see it? Why am I doubting now? I was so sure yesterday! What’s wrong with me?” 

“This is normal, Sansa, I assure you!” 

She shakes her head. “But… What if I am wrong? What if he turns out to be like all the rest, and tries to take Winterfell from me, and use me?” 

“If he tries to take Winterfell from you, I’ll bring my army up here and destroy him.” 

That doesn’t prove as comforting to her as he’d hoped. She shakes her head. “What if you’re right?” 

This gives him pause. “What do you mean, ‘What if I’m right?’” 

“You _hate_ Jon.” 

Stannis starts grinding his teeth again. Seven Hells. “My feelings toward Jon, mostly have nothing to do with whether he’s right for you.” 

“Mostly.”

“Except for the part…” Stannis says, shuddering, “Except for the part of me that knows he’s perfect for you. The part of me that knows that I owe it to you to let you wed him.”

She looks at him, wide-eyed, “I kept telling myself it’s because of Shireen. But part of me today wondered if that wasn’t all of it. I didn’t expect it to be that, though.”

Stannis hangs his head. “I only hate him for Shireen because it distracts me from hating myself for what happened to her. He’s innocent. And deep down, I know that. Or, at least, he’s far more innocent of all that than I am.” 

He didn’t mean to make her burst into tears all over again. She grabs him.

“Oh, I am the worst woman in the world!” She cries, “How can I ever leave you?! I can’t! I can’t!” 

“No! No!” Her tears might as well be wildfyre with the way they make him panic. They need to stop. Now. He can’t take anymore. “You have a life to live!” 

“That’s what I told myself to justify-” She shakes her head again. “Father, I meant for you to find us!” 

He freezes. “What?” 

She looks at her lap. “You think I don’t know your habits by now? You think that if I didn’t want you to find out about Jon and I, I would have allowed you to find out? You think I couldn’t keep a secret from you if I wished? I kissed him for the first time during the war. That whole time people thought he was cuckolding you, he was kissing me and touching me through my smallclothes. You knew nothing of it. Then one night, during an hour you usually like to walk, we just happened to be embracing right in the middle of one of your favorite routes. I knew you’d stumble upon us eventually. You’re on edge if you go a week without solving that maze again. We… We decided we didn’t want to wait until I turned eight-and-ten after all.” 

Stannis inhales. He processes this. Usually, being played for a fool would throw him into a violent rage, but with Sansa, he’s almost… proud of her. At the same time, he’s terribly hurt. 

“You might have just talked to me,” he tells her, “I’d have listened. Did you think I wouldn’t have listened?” 

“It’s my fault,” she says quickly, “That’s what Jon wanted. But I insisted.” 

“Why?!” Stannis demands. 

She looks into his eyes. “...I didn’t want you to think I wanted to leave you.” 

There goes his heart again. Gods, how he wishes his critics were right. 

“I don’t want to leave you,” she whispers, “I’m scared to leave you. I don’t want to be the girl without a father again.” 

Stannis didn’t set out to steal Ned Stark’s daughter. But he can’t help but feel this joy. It’s not the right thing. But maybe he’s not cut out to always do what’s right. 

Besides, the man is dead. And despite how his poor daughter blames herself, it’s by his own hand that it happened. And he left her all alone in the world. 

And… And Stannis will be giving her back tomorrow anyways.

He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles. “You will never be without a father again, for as long as I live, Sansa Stark. You may not have my name, or my blood, but you have my love. I am yours, even if you can’t still be mine. You’re right, Sweetling. About him. And it’s time I give you back to Winterfell. My last daughter died. I will make sure you live.”

They embrace. He escorts her back to her chambers to avoid any gossip that might arise if her maids don’t find her in her bed at dawn. Before they depart, she wipes her eyes. 

“I don’t want you to be alone.”

“We can’t have everything we want. Goodnight.” 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~ 

Epilogue: 

When Lady Stark, former mistress of the Court and Lady Paramount of the North sent her vassal, Lady Barbrey Dustin, to the royal court to act as the representative of her lands, many people sneered. They saw it as a ploy by the famed ‘Queen of Winter’, to keep an eye on her adoptive father. This cynicism only deepened when Lady Dustin became far more than an envoy, and the royal wedding was announced. Lady Dustin was an old widow, well-past child-bearing years. Clearly Lady Stark sent the woman to seduce the king and ensure that her husband remained the only viable heir to the Iron Throne. 

What they couldn’t figure out was why, of all mature widows the Lady might have sent, she sent one as bitter, scheming, sharp-tongued, blunt, and authoritative as Lady Dustin. The woman didn’t even seem to be all that partial towards House Stark. But she was as shrewd as she was shrewish. Hardly a worthy spy or seductress for her lady. 

Indeed, at the wedding reception, when Lady Stark and her Lord Consort came to pay their respects to the new couple, Queen Barbrey seemed to take great pleasure in making the great Starks curtsey to her. Her former liege seemed to take it in good humor, though.

Some whispered, though, that the Lady’s good manners were out of assurance that she’d win out in the end when her husband took the Iron Throne. Some said this assurance was misplaced, that the formerly indomitable Lady Stark had made the first error in her adult life, and that Queen Barbrey, who seemed to have no love for her, might convince Stannis to find another heir. They took Lady Stark’s “desperate”, frequent visits to court after the royal wedding as “evidence” that Winterfell’s influence on the Iron Throne was truly starting to wane.

For the new queen seemed to have a true hold on their surly, glowering king. Such as had not been seen since Lady Stark’s period at court. The two were admittedly suited for each other. And while soft smiles never became a habit of King Stannis’s, his usual scowl was eventually replaced with the wry smirks he often shared with his wife. 

Whatever missteps some at court might have accused Lady Stark of proved void in 311 AL when Stannis granted Lord Jon with the title of Prince of Dragonstone, along with the historic fiefdom. The Starks would remain Prince and Princess of Dragonstone and favored heirs presumptive to the Iron Throne for twenty-eight years. 

Both were present when King Stannis I took his final breath in 339 AL. It was said that while the usually immovable Queen Barbrey wept into his chest, Lady Stark wept into her husband’s.

King Jon I ordered six moons of mourning, during which his predecessor’s banners were to remain in place. When that period ceased, only then were the new king and queen crowned, and the banners were replaced, not with the expected dragons, but with direwolves.

When asked about this by his courtiers, King Jon wryly replied that years ago, when Stannis set off to retake the North from the Boltons, Stannis insisted that his daughter succeed him if he fell. 

“Stannis is dead, now his daughter’s banners fly.”


End file.
